


Shoeboxes

by Seda



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: EFA Fic Challenge 2019, F/F, First Meetings, I mean for crying out loud Seda, Melancholic toothpaste?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-21 21:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seda/pseuds/Seda
Summary: A great, dirty, rainy, city. Could be Canada, US, UK, anywhere.Nicole, a cop on loan from out of town, meets Waverly, an idealistic young volunteer.





	Shoeboxes

**Author's Note:**

> Vast majority of normal people - 'Toothpaste? Oo! Fluff!'
> 
> Subset of people (and hats off to them) - 'Toothpaste? Can I make that sexy?'
> 
> Me - 'Toothpaste? Well, that's me buggered then. Toothpaste doesn't exactly lend itself to the reflective, and I don't write much else.'
> 
> Also me, one week later - 'HANG ON JUST ONE GOSHDARN MINUTE.'

The rain hammers down on the roof of the police cruiser, splashing and crashing against the windshield. The wipers flap ineffectually across the glass, clearing a smudge of visibility for just a second before a new scatter of rainspots washes it out to blurs again.

"Nothing but the best for our guests..." Nicole Haught grumbles to herself. "You country kids won't want to go back once you've seen what it's like in the big city...my ass."

The WTO were in town, which meant all the local cops were on double time, providing security to the top brass and policing the associated protests. Which meant drafting in additional support from far and wide. Nicole had jumped at the chance to gain some extra experience, and in truth, was enjoying it, shitty cars and all.

Shitty calls and all. She was responding to an accusation of drug dealing by some street homeless, but was more than a little skeptical. Drug use was pretty common for rough sleepers of course, but actual dealing was rare.

She squinted out the windscreen, registering the huddled postures of people leaving work, pushing through the rain. At a stop light close to her destination she watches a dishevelled guy cross the road in front of her, what looks like a sleeping bag held over his head, dark and slick on top from the rain. She catches sight of his shoes in the beam of her headlights; cheap and old looking sneakers, lost their whiteness long ago, and so too it would seem, their laces.

"Poor bastards. If I was out in this I'd want something to take the edge off too..."

She swings the cruiser round the final corner to her destination, double parks, and pretty much instantly clocks the situation.

Along one side of the road are store fronts. There is a convenience and liquor store, a wedding dress shop, the opulence and glitter of the beads on the gaudy bodices and skirts in proud disregard of the cheapness of their material. A pizza and chicken joint, its name and logo suspiciously close to a better known national brand.

And on the other side of the street, a row of tables under brightly lit tents where volunteers are giving out soup to the homeless.

She scrutinises the set-up, which is clean, orderly, and well run. Sure, one or two of the homeless have brown paper bags in their hands as well as their soup. But there's nothing that looks like drug taking, let alone dealing.

She sighs. She understands the call, she really does. But c'mon. Weather like this?

Nonetheless Nicole forces herself to watch for suspicious behaviour. She sees the first volunteer, a bearded guy, earnest and fumbling, giving out soup. The next, an older woman, a bit more brusque, passing out bread.

But then sees something interesting in the behaviour of the line as it comes to the third, a young woman handing out cups of tea. She sees one by one each person in the line straighten. She sees the girl smile, ask them questions, and though she can't see or hear their response, can read something of what they're saying in the sympathetic eyes of the volunteer. There are kind words, a sharing of a story, a sharing of some weight with that. Some make jokes, and she'll laugh, genuine enjoyment and a twinkle in her eye, and those ones walk away almost swaggering, grinning like they've won the lottery.

As the line passes Nicole catches full sight of the girl. She's wrapped up in a thick white coat, and has a white woollen hat to match pulled down low and snug over her ears. But Nicole can see enough of her face to see that she's pretty. Really... _really_ pretty.

Nicole's analytic, police brain watches the line of homeless people, and ponders.

_Funny. Out on the streets they look so wretched. They trade on it, I guess. The more miserable they look, the better the punters are gonna feel tossing them some change. But here? With her?_

She watches a bit longer. Watches the beautiful - the woman, put smile after smile on tired and lined faces.

 _They look just like regular people._  

Nicole realises what she's thought the second she's thought it, and, shaking her head in disgust at herself, reaches over and with just a spin of the car's lights and a low slow whoop of the siren, announces her presence.

The reaction from the soup kitchen as she gets out of her car is exactly what she expects, with most of the line tensing, and some even dropping their bowls and walking away. The first two volunteers look resigned. But the young woman?

She's round the tables, and marching up to Nicole, and yelling at her before Nicole can start speaking.

"We have a  _permit._ We are here on a _city council funded_ scheme. Our service users know we don't tolerate _any_ misbehaviour. There is absolutely _no_ drug taking permitted. This - is -  _harrassment_."

Nicole holds up her hands, and has to hold back a grin, as despite the half foot height difference, and the obvious imbalance of power in this situation, the girl glares up at Nicole, evidently expecting her to be the one with the explanation.

"Whoa whoa whoa ma'am. Hold on a second. I was called out here to investigate a legitimate complaint from a concerned local resident."

"I'll bet you were." The volunteer has her arms crossed, and is glaring balefully at the shops across the road. "We _consulted_ with local residents and business, and the overwhelming majority responded that they'd prefer our service users to have this option to get fed rather than having to resort to begging or theft. _Not_ to mention that it's also the right thing to do..."

"Okay. That's all as maybe. But I have a call to investigate. Can I take your name please, ma'am?"

The girl rolls her eyes at the 'ma'am', and Nicole sees the first hint of that smile up close.

 _Oh, um, okay. Wow. I can see why the guys in line were happy to see her_ , some non-police part of Nicole's mind supplies.

"Waverly Earp. And can I get your name, please, Officer? And your badge number?"

This would normally be a dick move, but for some reason Nicole finds herself not minding. If they've really been harassed then she's every right to keep records, Nicole thinks, as she holds up her badge to the girl's cell phone camera.

"Officer Nicole Haught."

Nicole sees one eyebrow raise at that. She stares her interrogator down, putting her best steely implacable police face on. But the girl holds her eyes, and lets a slow grin cross her face. Waggles those eyebrows in a challenge.

"Hot?"

"H-A-U-G-H-T." Nicole clears her throat. _Not_ the first time she's had this exchange, but the first time for a long time she's been so thrown by it. "Now, excuse me, but I need to ask you and your - service users? - some questions."

There's a twinkle in the woman's eyes. But she nods.

 

* * *

 

Waverly stands to one side of the tables, with arms crossed, watching the officer closely. She won't tolerate _any_ harrassment of her service users. The other volunteers seem to accept it as part of the gig, to co-operate and help the police. But honestly. It was just so unnecessary.

So it was her duty to their clients to watch Nicole - the officer, closely.

But, there was something about this one that Waverly couldn't quite put her finger on. She seemed almost - nice?

For one thing, she was talking directly to the service users, rather than ignoring them with the distaste that most cops did, and talking just to the volunteers.

And then she was actually, genuinely listening to their replies. Waverly had made sure she was standing close enough to hear any untoward questionning, and so had already been thrown off balance by this police officer respectfully asking their names, but not pressing when they were withheld or clearly made up. She didn't ask anyone's address, but when one or two volunteered their homelessness, she saw the officer politely nod, and then write down in her notepad whilst mouthing the words to herself, _of no fixed abode_ , as if the situation they were in didn't make that abundantly clear.

One or two she even seemed to share a joke with, and Waverly found herself smiling fondly at that.

Well. She did like to see the clients laugh.

And she looked different to most police, too. She was tall for a woman. Striking. She held herself upright and confident. But loosely, easily. Not with the aggressive energy of too many cops, the men using their physicality and bulk as veiled threats, the women typically making up for what they lacked in size with bristling attitude.

No. This one didn't look like she'd take any shit. But she was still - sort of - soft? She noticed the red hair poking out from under the police issue beany hat. Caught herself smiling at it. It was actually kinda cute.

And then her reverie was broken into, as the officer nodded one final time, put away her notepad, and walked straight up to Waverly.

"Um. Hi?" Waverly cleared her throat. Shit, was she blushing? She covered herself with anger. "You see, everything's _completely_ in order."

"So it would seem." The cop seemed unflapped by Waverly's short words. "I'm sorry for the interruption, ma'am."

"It's _Waverly_." she insisted. Why did these ma'ams bother her so much?

The officer nodded.

"Well, you're right, everything seems in order. Thank you for your time. Y'all can get back to your service, now."

Waverly nodded, frowning a little as the officer seemed to have finished what she had to say, but made no sign of moving away, just rocking on the balls of her feet, looking at Waverly. She seemed nervous, somehow.

The moment stretched.

"Ah. What are those?"

Waverly followed the line of the cop's vision behind her, and deflated. Right. Of course. She was still a cop. Assholes.

She turned back around from the stack of shoeboxes piled up, and hit the woman with _just you try and challenge me glare_.

"They're shoeboxes."

The cop nodded, slowly, seriously.

"Right. I can see that. Just."

"Yes?" Waverly said icily. _C'mon. I dare you._

"Um. Why have they got reindeers on them? And stars? And - " Nicole leaned around Waverly for a better look " - glitter bows?"

Waverly sighed. She was really going to go through with this?

"They're gift boxes. We make them up this time of year, take donations of toiletries, razors, socks, things like that, to give out at Christmas."

"Okay. But why are they gift-wrapped like that?"

Waverly tuts.

"It's _Christmas_. Would _you_ want your Christmas gift in a plain cardboard box?"

The officer nods slowly again. Has the decency to look told.

"Okay. I guess that makes sense."

"Hm. Well, thank you for your kind understanding, Officer."

Waverly is back to her usual attitude when dealing with the law. But for some reason it feels wrong, speaking like this to this woman. So she's a little more conciliatory, but still wary, as she goes on. "I suppose you're going to want to search them for drugs, now?"

The woman catches Waverly's eye.

"Do I need to?"

The officer's voice is inquisitive, but soft, gentle.

"No."

"Well, okay then." The cop smiles, a slow, warm smile.

Waverly shivers. It must have grown cold, standing motionless on a night like this.

They look at each other. The smile on the police officer's face has faded, but there's something still left there. Something kind. Waverly looks up at her, looks into her eyes. They're brown, deep; and searching. Like she's reaching for something in Waverly herself. And then she frowns, like she's reaching for something to say.

"Harrassment!" the cop suddenly blurts out.

"Uh - what?"

"Yes!" She looks puppyishly excited, relieved all of a sudden. "Yes, I mean, you shouldn't have to suffer from police harrassment."

Waverly stares in utter confusion as the cop loses all her quiet calm and poise, and fumbles around in a number of pockets, until she comes up with a business card, and scribbles something on the back.

"This is my card, but actually I'm on loan this weekend, I'm normally out in the sticks, so if you dial this number it'll just go through to my local station, so I mean, if you have any trouble when I'm in town, well you can call the city PD of course, but if it's them you're complaining about - so, I mean, you can call me. You can just - well - anytime. You can. Call me."

Waverly takes the card, turns it over, looks at the hastily scrawled number in astonishment.

"Um. Thank you?"

"Right! Okay. I really must be off now. I hope y'all get back on track."

Waverly watches the cop walk off to her car, get in, and then after a few moments, pull away.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, and Waverly stands by the open doors of the truck, all their kit packed away, but immobile, not making the final move to go. She's staring down at her phone, like she has been the last ten minutes, writing and deleting a series of messages.

_Hi! Was super nice to meet you!_

No. Too friendly.

_Hey. Thanks for being the 'good cop'!_

Too flippant.

 _I appreciate your professionalism_.

Too dry.

Finally she stops thinking about what she wants this Officer Haught to read, and just lets her thumbs type out what she wants to say.

She stares down at the message, not quite ready yet to delete this new and inexplicable truth.

 _I just really want to see you again_.

And then gets the shock of her life.

"Hey! I hope you don't mind, but I've finished my shift, and I thought I'd stop by, and drop these off. If there's any room left in the boxes?"

It's the woman. But Officer Haught is gone, and instead standing in front of Waverly is someone she understands must be  _Nicole_. She's changed, in blue jeans and a heavy army surplus jacket, with the formality of office stripped away, and though she's still got that upright poise and easy confidence, there's something softer there. Something almost bashful, as she holds out a cheap blue plastic bag.

Waverly looks in the bag, and laughs, charmed. There are packets and packets of toothbrushes, and box after box of toothpaste.

Nicole shrugs, a little embarrassed.

"I wanted to get them something nicer. But all the good places were shut. And I thought - well. I used to party, when I was at college. Kinda a lot, actually. And I remember, waking up on some random buddy's couch, and my clothes would stink, and I'd stink - but I'd always have my toothbrush with me. And I'd go and clean my teeth, and wherever I found myself, I always felt like me again. Clean and new. I'm sure it's not the same for your service users, and this is probably stupid, but - "

"It's not stupid. It's perfect. _Thank you_. This is so thoughtful, Officer - Nicole?"

Nicole nods. She looks pleased, like seeing the smile that Waverly can feel split her face was all that she came back for.

"Well then. I'll not keep you any longer. I'm sorry again for earlier."

Waverly just stares, a heavy stone falling in her stomach as the woman she'd not stopped thinking about in the hours since she'd met her nods again, decisively, and moves to step away.

Waverly panics.

"Do you want to go for a drink?"

 

* * *

 

It's a wonderful first hour, sitting up at the bar of an Irish pub around the corner, drinking whiskey and stout, and talking easily and freely, like they're life-long friends.

But then as usually happens nights she volunteers, Waverly slowly falls morose.

Nicole notices.

"Hey. You okay?"

Waverly glumly turns the whiskey glass in front of her.

"Yeah. _I_ am. I'm warm, and dry, and safe."

Nicole doesn't need to ask her what she means. Hesitates.

"The shelters will be open this time of year won't they?"

Waverly looks at her watch. "Not for another hour yet. I mean, great, we gave them a hot meal. But then they're straight back to it. Trying to find someplace out of the rain. Or if they've got a dependency, begging or doing god knows what else to get their fix for the night."

Nicole watches the young woman carefully. She'd seemed so light and bubbly earlier, and now there was just this - _weight_ on her.

"Hey." Nicole said, softer still. "You're doing what you can, right? You said yourself, most of them have got bigger problems that's keeping them where they are. The government should be doing something about that. It can't all come down to individuals. You vote, right?"

"I vote. I organise. I campaign. For all the good it does." Waverly's voice is bitter.

"Well. You're doing everything you can then."

"It's not everything I can. There's always more. But, thank you."

It's a clear close of the conversation. Nicole feels so helpless, watching this girl who's given so much, apparently beating herself up for not giving more.

She hesitates again. But then Nicole takes her hand, and lays it carefully on Waverly's, resting on the bar.

Nicole sees Waverly's eyes fall shut, and her take a deep breath.

And then she turns her hand up, and interlinks their fingers. And holds tight.

 

* * *

 

They change the subject. And as the pub gets busier and livelier, its mood changes, and lifts theirs with it. They're jostled so much at the bar they decide to move to a quiet corner of the pub; no seats, but space enough for them to stand and talk.

Nicole's head is swimming. And it's not just from the drink. Their corner is pretty tight, and so they're standing in close proximity, and the heat in the pub has warmed them both up, and Waverly has taken off her warm sweater to reveal a double vest top, and Nicole can practically feel the heat coming off of her. She's trying to be respectful, maintain her distance, not get lost in her eyes, not look too closely when Waverly pulls and twists her hair up into a knot, not notice the smooth skin of her neck, her shoulders.

But it's not easy. Because _god_ , Waverly was tactile. She'd touch her arm when making a point, or grab a hand sometimes for emphasis, or when she slipped past to the bathroom, trail a hand round and off Nicole's hip.

And with each touch, Nicole found it harder and harder not to react, hoping to all hell that the increasing surges of feeling they were provoking in her weren't visible.

Until at one point, Waverly puts a hand to Nicole's shoulder as she leans in to raise her voice over the noise of the pub. And as her hand slips off, her fingers trail a light touch down her arm. And Nicole feels herself visibly shiver.

"I'm sorry. I'm being too touchy, aren't I? My friends always tell me off for that. I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

Nicole shakes her head, not quite trusting herself to speak.

"Like - you haven't got a boyfriend, or anything, who wouldn't like that?"

"A _boyfriend_?" Nicole laughs out loud. "I'm _really_ not the boyfriend type."

"No. No, I didn't think you were. Just - I know what men can be like sometimes."

Nicole frowns. She doesn't like the sound of this.

"Have - you got one? Like that?"

Waverly rolls her eyes.

"I did. He was an asshat. Long gone."

Nicole nods, relieved that Waverly was seemingly out of whatever toxic situation that sounded like. But hit with a heavy, crushing confirmation of what she'd already assumed to go with it.

"Well, good riddance. Anyway. To answer your question. No, I don't mind."

 _I kinda do, actually._ Nicole thinks. _But not because I don't want you to touch me casually. Because I don't want it to be casual._

"Good. But - okay, so I don't know what the rules are for - you know. Girls like you."

Nicole raises her eyebrows. "The rules?"

"Yeah. Like, with men, they always say I'm leading them on. And they can get real pushy. Like, 'oh, I thought you were in to me', when I'm just being friendly, you know?"

Nicole laughs into her drink.

"We're not quite so much for those sorts of rules, Wave. But yeah. A lot of touch is normally a sign, too."

"Really?"

Waverly is looking up at Nicole, and there's something questionning in the look.

Nicole puts her drink down.

"Yeah. But it can be confusing, with women. It's not always clear when you're hitting it off with someone because you're just gonna be good friends, or when it's something more."

"How do you tell then?"

Waverly is looking up at Nicole, deep into her eyes. And Nicole can't tear hers away from Waverly, either. They're standing close, the heat and the noise of the pub surrounding them, cocooning them.

Nicole hears herself go on.

"A lot of touch. A lot of eye contact. There's usually - a feeling."

"Yeah?"

Waverly's voice is a whisper. And there's a shake in it.

"Yeah. But sometimes. You just have to - be brave. And go for it. And just hope to god you're not wrong."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Nicole sees Waverly swallow. And close her eyes again, and take a deep breath.

And then she opens them again, and looks at Nicole, and there's something changed, a decision, and then there's movement and closeness and touch and Waverly's hands are at her face pulling her down and her lips are surging up and - 

 

Waverly feels the kiss like waking up, a new day, a new world, a new _everything_. Because this woman she'd felt this instant connection with is kissing her, slow, and deep, and she can feel soft hands rise to her waist, and its like no other touch she's ever felt, and this kiss is like no kiss she's ever experienced, she's falling, and flying, and holding onto Nicole's shoulders, and running her hands into her hair, and her body is on fire, and she's weak, and strong, and she leans back, pulling the two of them back against the wall of their quiet corner, and Nicole kisses her deeper, and she opens her mouth to let Nicole taste her, and oh god, oh god, oh god - 

It breaks, suddenly, Nicole pulling back a fraction, breathing hard. Still holding Waverly's waist, still pressed up against her, but wrestling to control herself, evidently trying to say something.

Waverly stares at her wet lips.

"Uh..." is all that comes out, at first. "Are you okay?"

Nicole's eyes are dark, full of want, but also concern, and care. Waverly feels the strangest rush, like she's never been seen like this before.

"Does - does it always feel like that? With girls?"

" _No_. It _never_ feels like that."

Nicole's voice is shaky, but she's smiling now, and Waverly smiles too, because they both see it. They both felt it. They're both feeling - _this_.

And the smiles grow, and Nicole leans back into Waverly's body again, and her hands slip round to the back of her waist. And Waverly leans her head back against the wall behind her, and looks up into Nicole's eyes. And in the noisy, beer soaked bar, in the dirty, rainy city, in the awful, unfair world, she pulls Nicole back down, and simply melts into their kiss. Steals just one perfect moment; seals just one thing that is good, and perfect, and true.

**Author's Note:**

> So.
> 
> I said in a comment thread on one of my previous gloomy fics that the dreamy romance of Wayhaught combined with real world problems and sadness wasn't really a natural fit for fanfic. The fantasy and reality just jars. And I said I wouldn't do it again.
> 
> But, I am increasingly poor at keeping ficcy promises. So here we all are.
> 
> Curious if there's anyone out there in homelessness sector who recognises the phenomena of the Christmas goodies shoebox? Its a thing here, I know that, but don't know if it's an international one. I also don't think sparkly decoration is exactly common, but that's our Waves for you :)
> 
> I will bet though that if there's readers out there in the service or not for profit sector, one or two will recognise Waverly and Nicole's conversation in the bar. I don't know the right answer, or the balance. I really don't. Nicole gives Waverly an out, but just as much because she's a sweetheart tumbling head over heels in love, than I think she's necessarily right about there being an 'enough'. I really don't know. I guess I've got morality on the brain after my last effort...


End file.
